‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the House,
All the interns were sewing Senator Jaquez Lewis’s blouse.
The bill tips were hung by the lobbies with care,
In hopes that the governor soon would sign there.
The interests so special were snug in their beds,
While visions of subsidies danced in their heads,
And Dems in their hybrids and MAGA in their caps,
prepared to examine winter’s budgeting lapse.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter!
That was just Amazon, whose tax collecting’s no laughing matter.
I relaxed and sipped Colorado tea,
wondering what that stuff was doing to me.
The Northern Lights dazzled new fallen snow,
Gave the lustre of disco to objects below;
When, what before wondering eyes should creep,
But a converted truck pulled by bighorn sheep,
With a bearded man wearing jacket and sandals.
I’d better keep quiet to avoid all the scandals.
More rapid than, uh, lark bunting his coursers they came,
And he whistled and shouted, and called them by name:
‘Now Gilpen and Evans, ye dastardly crew,
‘You’re cursed with ol’ Morley to serve as a ewe.
‘To the top of the slopes, to the top of the dome,
‘Get ready, Colorado, here we all come!’
As fresh flakes before the snow machines twirl,
When they scatter about, toward the mogul runs hurl,
So up to the house-top the bighorns they soared,
With the bed full of toys, as the bearded man roared.
And then in a split, I heard on the roof
The smash of the horns and the paw of the hoof.
Transported as though from Captain Kirk’s bridge,
the bearded man grabbed a craft brew from the fridge.
He was dressed in a ski jacket overpriced by far,
His muscular calves as bare as a bar.
Fit and tan, he was a right thick old elf,
And I thought I should join in his gym myself.
A nod of his head and a scratch of his chin
Soon gave me a feeling of absolute zen.
Each gift in his bundle was wrapped and bowed,
And he looked like a shopper with basket borrowed.
‘Hey dude, can you tell me which pen you’d select?
The gov’s underused one seems to have a defect.’
He filled socks with Hammonds and Celestial tea,
then added treats from Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory.
The visitor vanished just as he’d come,
And I eyed my strange brew and felt a bit numb.
And I heard him exclaim, as he flew out of sight,
‘Happy Christmas to all, and to Colorado good night!’
Ari Armstrong writes regularly for Complete Colorado and is the author of books about Ayn Rand, Harry Potter, and classical liberalism. He can be reached at ari at ariarmstrong dot com.
